


vilify

by starkravingcap



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Pre-Canon, Strangers to Lovers, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-08 23:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19877551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkravingcap/pseuds/starkravingcap
Summary: The first time she meets John Seed, Rook has lived in Hope County for all of three weeks. She’s just transferred over from Missoula, has left the big city behind for open fields of Holland Valley, the sloping peaks of the Whitetail Mountains, and the twists and turns of the Henbane River.





	vilify

The first time she meets John Seed, Rook has lived in Hope County for all of three weeks. She’s just transferred over from Missoula, has left the big city behind for open fields of Holland Valley, the sloping peaks of the Whitetail Mountains, and the twists and turns of the Henbane River.

It’s... _different_ , to say the least. Rook doesn’t know if she’s ever going to get used to the quiet sleepiness of the place.

She’s perched on a stool in the Spread Eagle, absentmindedly tracing patterns in the wood of the bar top, when he slides in next to her. Rook’s fingers clench around the neck of her mostly empty beer as she startles. The Spread Eagle is a popular place, but it’s nothing like the packed bars back home — she’s starting to get used to having empty seats next to her and drinking in silence.

“Awfully early to be drowning your sorrows, don’t you think?”

The man that’s appeared next to her is barely older than she is — mid thirties at the most, Rook thinks — and the first thing she notices are the crystal clear blues of his eyes. He wears a shirt she’s pretty sure is made of silk, a vest, and dark jeans, and she is struck all at once by how much he sticks out in a place like this.

“Sorrows don’t care what time it is,” she says. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what makes them sorrows.”

“Fair enough,” the man says. He stares at her for a moment before he starts up again. “You must be the latest addition to the Hope County Sheriff’s Department.”

Rook isn’t usually into this kind of thing. Bars are for drinking alone, in her experience — the kind of men that strike up conversations with strangers in the local dive bar are rarely ever her type.

But this guy doesn’t belong. Mary May is giving him a look that could kill him from behind the counter. His wardrobe appears to contain less than the requisite amount of plaid for Hope County.

It’s fascinating.

“Your friendly, neighbourhood Deputy Rook,” she confirms. She flashes him a slightly pinched smile and drains the rest of the beer she’s been cradling.

“Nice to meet you, Deputy,” he says, enunciating the title like each syllable deserves its own word. “John Seed. How are you finding your new home?”

It’s a question she’s been pondering for a little while now. She likes Hope County, understands why so many people get a glimpse of the scenery and stay, but it’s not _home_. She feels like a visitor in the tiny apartment that’s technically _hers._

“It’s beautiful,” she says eventually. “I’ve never lived near so much nature before.”

“You’re right,” John muses. “I was stunned the day I arrived in the Valley.”

“Do you live around here?” Rook finds herself asking. She’s not sure why she cares, but she wants to know.

John nods. He hasn’t ordered a drink or anything to eat, apparently perfectly content to sit and chat. Rook wonders if it has something to do with the nasty looks Mary May is casting his way, and she suddenly wants to know every part of that drama.

“Near Rye and Sons,” he says. He must find her confused expression charming, because he smiles before he continues. “Not that you’d know where that is yet, I’m sure. It’s not too far from here, Deputy.”

She thinks he’s about to ask her where she lives, but before he opens his mouth again, a phone rings. John slides his cell out of his pocket and looks at the screen, sighing heavily.

“Duty calls,” he says grimly, looking back up at her.

There’s a pause before John speaks again, a muted kind of glee bouncing around the blue of his eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” John says. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and leans over the bar counter to snatch up a pen and a napkin. “This is my number.”

Rook watches him apprehensively, following the movement of his hand as he writes. The ‘number on the napkin’ trope isn’t always one that ends well.

John slides the napkin across to her.

“If you ever want to talk, Deputy,” John says smoothly, a kind smile plastered across his features, “you just give me a call. I know how hard it can be getting used to a place like this.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, one she can’t say she expected, so Rook grabs the napkin and folds it small enough to fit in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Thank you,” she says genuinely. “That’s really nice of you.”

John grins, and it’s dazzling, a smile that makes all her apprehension vanish. She likes this stranger that’s just walked into her life. He slides off the stool and starts toward the door.

“I’ll see you around, Deputy,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Room stares at the door a little while longer, then turns back toward the bar, contemplating the empty bottle she still holds.

* * *

She makes it a full week before she breaks down and fishes the crumpled piece of paper out of the back pocket of her dirty jeans. Rook can’t help it — she’s stuck in a strange place with no friends. She’s _lonely_. Everyone she loves is a hundred miles away.

John picks up on the third ring, and she’s so flustered when he answers with a smooth ‘hello’ that at first she doesn’t know what to say. She barely knows this guy.

“Hi,” she says awkwardly, cradling the receiver against her ear. “Sorry — it’s Deputy Rook. We met at the Spread Eagle last week and you told me to give you a call if I ever needed to talk?”

Silence fills the other line, and for a minute she thinks he may have hung up on her. Instead, he gives her an address and tells her to come by.

“I’ll see you soon, Deputy.”

As she hangs up the phone, she has to think — what if this guy is a murderer luring her to his home? She doesn’t know anything about him, doesn’t really know her way around this massive landscape, and it’s dark. The good sense that’s always made her a good cop seems to have retreated to some dark part of her head, because she gets up, shrugs on a light jacket, and climbs into her car.

* * *

John Seed’s home is stunning. It’s the only word Rook can think of to describe it as she rolls up the driveway, windows down and breeze slinging hair into her eyes.

It’s a massive Ranch-style house, sprawling across perfectly manicured grass and decorated with gorgeous flowers. Golden light casts half of the property into shadows, and Rook can see the amber glow of lights flickering to life in the windows. She loves it.

John answers the door in a dress shirt and well-tailored pants, and Rook feels embarrassingly underdressed in a ratty old pair of jeans and her favourite tee shirt. If John’s judging her wardrobe choice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps away from the threshold and invites her in with a smile on his face. He takes her through an open living space with a fireplace in the centre and tasteful furniture, then shows her through a closed door which leads into the dining room.

The table is set with food that makes her mouth water, and Rook has to wonder how he’s managed to do this in such a short time.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, smiling as she turns to stare at him incredulously. “I mean it. None of this was me. There’s a reason I employ chefs.”

_Chefs_? She can’t help but wonder just how loaded this guy is, and _why_.

“Please,” John grins, gesturing toward the spread, “sit. I want to get to know you better.”

So she does sit. Rook sets herself down in one of the comfiest chairs she’s ever sat in and digs in, answering all of John’s questions about her and asking her own.

She discovers that he’s a lawyer, which explains a lot. She learns that he grew up in Georgia, that his parents were very wealthy but died when he was just a young man. He tells her about his older brothers, and Rook can tell by the way he speaks about them that he adores them. They talk for hours, and by the time he’s asking her the same questions about herself, Rook feels as if she’s known John Seed for years.

She tells him about the move to Hope County from Missoula, about how policing runs in her family and led her straight into the vacant position in this strange new place. Rook talks about her mother and father, her childhood, her hobbies, and John listens like she’s the most fascinating woman on the planet, like he’s never heard anything quite as interesting as her embarrassing talent for crocheting. It’s the most refreshing conversation she’s had in _months_.

“I know what it feels like,” John says suddenly, once they fall into a strangely comfortable silence. “Being an outsider in a place like this. It’s not easy.”

For a moment, Rook is thrown. She’s done her best to mask her unease about her new home. She doesn’t dislike Hope County, but she does feel like she’s on the outside looking in. John leans back in his chair, a kind smile curving the corners of his mouth.

“I’m a stranger,” she admits. “I don’t really have a good idea of what small towns are like, but the people here...they’re friendly, but they’re cautious. They already have their friends. I get the impression that they’re afraid of making new ones.”

He laughs, nodding at her words. “You’re not wrong.”

“It’s hard to be alone when the people you love are so far away. I guess I just haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

John leans forward in his chair. They’re across from each other at the table, but when he moves, Rook feels like he’s just devoured part of her space. His personality seems to take up the room, filling all the empty corners until he’s all that remains. Normally, she wouldn’t like that, but she’s finding that she actually likes John.

“Well,” John says quietly, eyes bright and playful, “you’re not alone now. You have me, and I have you. Sound fair?”

She can’t help the smile that crawls across her face. It feels a little like she’s burning from the inside out with a strange new brand of happiness.

“Sounds fair.”

Rook stays another thirty minutes before she forces herself to leave. It’s late, and she’ll regret coming here when her alarm sounds at five the next morning and shocks her bleary eyes awake. John walks her to the door.

“Thank you for this,” Rook says, standing in the doorway. She gives him a smile and gestures at the ranch. “Really. For the first time in my life, I’m happy the stranger from the bar gave me his number.”

John laughs. She likes that sound, she realizes, the tone of it, the sincerity behind it.

It’s a stupid, impulse decision, but she can’t stop herself. Rook leans up on her toes and presses her lips to his in the briefest of kisses.

When she pulls away from him, there’s a strange look in his eyes, and her stomach starts to turn uncomfortably. Has she already ruined this?

Every excuse imaginable runs through her head, but before she even has a chance to choose a viable one, John slips his hands up to cup her face and kisses her back. His mouth is warm, soft against hers, and the flick of his tongue against her lips sends shivers up her spine. He kisses the same way he seems to do everything else: extravagantly, earnestly, _thoroughly_.

When he pulls back, Rook is panting, trying to catch her breath. A smile curls the corners of the lips she just kissed.

“Drive carefully, my dear. It gets dark out here,” he whispers against her mouth. The words vibrate down her jaw. “I’ll see you soon.”

Rook is calm on the walk down the driveway, clutching her keys tightly in her hand, and it’s only as she slides behind the wheel and starts the car that she lets a stupid grin take up residence on her face.

_This is new and exciting_ , she thinks on the drive home. _This is good._

She sings along to the radio, her windows down and the cool night air whipping her hair around her head. For the first time since she arrived in Hope County, Rook is really, genuinely happy.

When she curls into bed that night, all she can think about is John Seed.

* * *

Whitehorse calls her into his office the next day, a strange sort of grimace on his face. He looks resigned, tired, and irritated, and Rook is all at once fascinated by what he could possibly want.

“Is everything alright?” she asks, taking a seat in the uncomfortable chair across from his desk.

He sighs. Leaning forward on his desk means leaning forward onto a disorganized scatter of paperwork, but he does it anyway, resting his weight on his elbows and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was hoping not to blindside you with this your first month in, but calls are starting to come in again and I’m not gonna be able to keep you away from it for much longer.”

_Ominous_ , Rook thinks. Her brow creases in concern, and suddenly Hope County doesn’t seem like the lazy little place she was promised.

“What do you mean?”

Whitehorse leans back just a little, folding his arms in front of him. He sighs heavily — it’s a mannerism Rook is becoming very familiar with, and she wonders if the sheriff is known for it.

“We’ve been having problems with a local religious group.”

“Religious group?” Rook asks. She’s trying to make sense of his words, but he’s being so vague it’s hard for her to get a good idea of what she’s supposed to be taking from this conversation. “What, you mean like radical Christians or something? Westboro Baptist type problems?”

Whitehorse looks reluctant to continue. “Not quite the same.”

A darker, more disquieting possibility settles in the back of her head. Rook thinks back to the frenzied news reports that came out of Waco when she was a kid.

“A cult?”

He leans back in his chair, tapping at the top of his desk with the end of a pen, and Rook has an awful feeling she’s right.

“You could call it that, sure. They call themselves the Project at Eden’s Gate. I’m sure you’ve seen the billboards.”

_Billboards?_ Rook thinks. She doesn’t remember seeing anything like that — then again, she doesn’t remember a lot of the brief tour Staci gave her that first day of work. She’s been meaning to get out and explore by herself, but she’s spent so much time trying to get settled in her new home that she hasn’t had the chance.

“I haven’t, actually.”

“Lucky you,” he mutters. “I won’t lie—they’re a bit of a crazy bunch. Think the world is comin’ to an end in some kind of ‘collapse’.”

“A collapse.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he says. Rook notices that he sounds resigned. “Their leader is Joseph Seed. A real David Koresh type, you ask me. Calls himself ‘the Father’. Now, I can’t say for sure he’s done anything _illegal_ , but he’s spooked some of the locals.”

Unease creeps into Rook’s stomach. _Seed._ She knows that name, and she knows it isn’t a common one. Her heart beats a little quicker as Whitehorse continues.

“He’s got his brothers here with him, too. Jacob’s up in the Whitetails. He’s ex-military, and his people love their guns. Then there’s the youngest brother, down in Holland Valley.”

She’s dreading his next words. The happiness that had surged through her on the ride home the night before is gone.

“John Seed is a lawyer. He’s been buying up every damn piece of property he can get his hands on in the name of Eden’s Gate. No clue what he’s up to, but I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

_Christ_. Rook closes her eyes for just a moment, and in the brief blackness all she can picture is the brilliant white of John’s smile, the kindness in his eyes as she’d admitted she was homesick. Her lips burn with the memory of his kiss.

She feels like an _idiot._

Whitehorse keeps talking about Eden’s Gate, but Rook’s only half listening. _They’re harmless enough,_ he says, _but they’re worth keeping an eye on. No one thought about checking in on Jonestown until everyone was already drinking the Kool-Aid. Better safe than sorry._

Anxiety curls in the pit of her stomach, and Rook promises herself that she won’t see John Seed again.

* * *

Except Rook _does_ see him, again and again, and before she knows it John become a permanent fixture in her life.

He introduces her to his brothers on a hazy summer night, a quiet evening at Joseph’s home that John is thrilled she has agreed to. Whitehorse has warned her that they pose just as much of a threat as John. Once she meets them, Rook finds herself hard-pressed to actually agree with him on that point.

Joseph, the middle child, is strange but kind; he smiles warmly at her when they arrive, grabs her hands and tells her how pleased he is that she has become part of their family. Rook nods and smiles politely, unsure of how to respond but appreciative of the sentiment nonetheless. How is this man the dangerous cult leader her colleagues have made him out to be? He’s a little odd, sure, but isn’t everyone a little odd in some way?

Jacob is the oldest, John’s big brother, and Rook doesn’t have to look very hard to see the intense protectiveness shining through the redhead’s stoic mask. He loves his younger brother, and Rook gets the impression that he would do just about anything to keep John safe. He’s polite enough, smiles when he needs to, asks her how she ended up here in the middle of nowhere. She notices his dog tags, asks about his military history, and learns he served in Iraq during the First Gulf War. Jacob may try to pass himself off as detached and aloof, but Rook gets the impression that it’s mostly a façade.

His family is a little different from what she’s used to, but _dangerous_? John has been nothing but kind to her from the moment she met him, and nothing but caring and sweet since the moment she first started thinking of him as her boyfriend.

Rook trusts Whitehorse, almost implicitly, has learned so much from him in the short time she’s been in Hope County, but this? It seems to Rook that this time, he may just be wrong.

John is uncharacteristically quiet on the drive home, focusing on the road, only speaking when he’s spoken to. Anxious thoughts swim through her head. Has she done something wrong? Did his brothers not like her?

Is he thinking of breaking things off?

Rook keeps the silence right up until the moment John drives up to the ranch and leads her through the front door.

“Is everything alright?” she asks finally, standing in the open expanse of the living room with her arms crossed over her chest.

John looks confused. “What? Of course it is. What made you think otherwise?”

“You usually aren’t so quiet,” Rook shrugs. “I thought maybe you were upset with how tonight went.”

To her surprise, he laughs. His smile is brilliant as he unbuttons his vest and drapes it over the back of an armchair. Something flickers awake inside her chest as John steps toward her.

“Not at all. Tonight was wonderful,” he says quietly. They’re a foot apart, close enough that Rook has to lean her head back a bit to be able to see his eyes. “ _You_ were wonderful, my dear.”

She smiles. John slides a hand up the bare skin of her arm, lip twitching at the goosebumps that follow in its wake. He slips a finger under the strap of her dress and strokes the line of her collarbone.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you,” John whispers. He closes the gap between them, kissing her just once. “Just some things on my mind.”

“Your brothers are nice,” Rook says, and finds she actually she means it. “They love you.”

She’s surprised to see the tips of his ears redden. John is not a man easily affected by anything — his reaction to her observations is fascinating to her.

“I know,” John says, once a few seconds have passed. “Thank you for coming. It was important to me that you met them.”

Warmth spreads through her. It’s been almost two months since that day in the bar, when he slid onto the stool next her and dazzled her with that smile. Rook finds herself thinking again about how serious Whitehorse had sounded when he’d warned her how dangerous the Seed family was. He’d seemed so convinced when he’d implored her to keep her distance. For once, she’s happy to have broken the rules.

John kisses her again, slow but deep, and fingers the strap of her dress. Rook’s stomach flips wildly.

“Stay the night,” he murmurs against her mouth. He lets her swallow up his words with another kiss before he speaks again, his free hand slipping up to stroke her hip. “I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”

Rook snakes her arms up around his neck and pulls his body flush to hers. This close, she can see the flecks of darker blue inside the otherwise icy irises of his eyes.

“Okay,” she says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The next press of his lips against hers is anything but sweet – it’s pure heat, his tongue like fire when it dips into her mouth.

She finds him intoxicating. He’s the most charming man she’s ever met, has a smile that makes her heart stutter and eyes that send her straight off the deep end.

John makes her _happy_ , and Rook realizes belatedly that she’s in trouble.

She thinks she might care more if trouble didn’t feel so goddamn good.

* * *

He fucks her for the first time that night, coaxing her into his bed with soft touches and searing kisses. He spends hours learning her body, splaying her out over his silk sheets, undressing her like she’s made of glass. He rids her of the A-line dress she wears, tossing it to the side carelessly, then deftly unhooks the clasp of her bra. Rook flushes as she’s bared to him, her cheeks tinged bright red with the jittery nervousness of being seen like this.

John kisses her like a dying man, desperate and needy, all tongue and teeth and soft, soft lips. Rook wants to return the favour and help him shed his clothes, wants to be able to touch him back and see what he looks like under all those layers, but he doesn’t let her. Instead, he takes his time exploring every part of her: the sharp edges of her collarbones, the hollow of her throat, the valley of her breasts. He drags breathy moans from her throat, discovers she likes it when he bites at the soft skin behind her ear, brushes a thumb across one dusty pink nipple just to see the way it hardens under his touch.

Rook feels like she’s on fire as John works his way down her body. The tips of his fingers trace the raised lines of scars on her abdomen and wander further, dipping into the divots of her hips. Her muscles tense in anticipation as John hovers over her cotton panties and eyes the wet spot forming on the front.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, pushing the fabric to the side. He swipes a finger through the wetness waiting for him.

A shudder rolls violently down her spine. Rook tosses her head back against the pillow, hands shaking as John presses a hard circle into the skin just above her clit. The moan that tumbles out of her mouth is positively filthy.

“Do you like that?” John asks, voice low, knowing _full well_ just how much she likes it. “Hmm?”

Rook lets out another shattered moan as his finger slips lower, ghosting over her entrance but never pressing in.

“I need you to tell me, darling,” John murmurs. He leans up the length of her body and runs the flat of his tongue over the bud of her nipple. “It’s just one word. That’s all.”

“Yes,” Rook gasps out. “Fuck, John, _yes_ , please.”

“That’s it,” John praises. He kisses a path down her sternum and hooks a finger under the waistband of her panties. “That’s my good girl.”

Heat rushes through her at his words. Gently, John spreads her legs open a little wider, tugging down her underwear as he goes until finally she is bare underneath him. The ache between her legs grows as he leans forward, breath barely ghosting over her skin. She shivers, anticipation making her body shake, and suddenly John is pressing a kiss to her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps out, legs coming up on either side of his head. “ _John._ ”

Rook’s breath comes in short pants, shallow and desperate as John sucks her clit into his mouth. In the thick haze of pleasure, she hardly even notices the slender finger he slides inside her.

John brings her to the edge, first with his mouth and then with his fingers. Rook trembles beneath him, white-knuckled and shaking as she grips the sheets beneath her. He crooks his fingers inside her, traces patterns over her clit with his tongue, but never lets her crest; she teeters on the edge for what feels like hours, her body thrumming with arousal, before John slips his fingers out and presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

She’s a trembling, needy mess, bereft without his ministrations, and John _knows_ it. He rises up to kiss her with a wicked grin plastered across his face, and Rook tastes herself on his tongue.

“I want you,” Rook says breathlessly when they part. Slowly, she releases the sheets where she has them twisted in her fists. She slides the palm of one hand up to rest on the bare stretch of skin where his shirt opens, fingers tracing over scars he’s told her about but which she’s never actually seen. “Please, John.”

The intensity of his gaze sends a wave of want through her, heat coiling in the pit of her stomach. Rook doesn’t think she has ever wanted anyone so badly before. Her nails scrape down his skin, and the touch is gentle, but it’s _enough_. John leans back on his knees and unbuttons his shirt, tossing it on the floor with the rest of her clothing. She helps with his belt; together, they manage to get his jeans and boxers off in record time.

His body is a mess of ink and scar tissue. Hesitantly, Rook reaches up. Her fingers are gentle where they trace the letters of ‘sloth’ on his chest, jagged and rough and marring the landscape of his skin. John slides her hand away delicately and leans down to kiss her, but Rook finds that she _wants_ to touch. She wants to feel every ridge of every scar, wants to follow the lines of his tattoos with the tips of her fingers. She wants to learn him; every part, even the ones he thinks are ugly.

John slots himself between her legs, dragging her thighs up on either side of his hips. Anticipation runs through her in waves as the tip of his cock bumps against the inside of her thigh.

“Say it again,” John whispers, looking for all intents and purposes like a man starved. Rook can hardly see the blue of his irises behind the wide black pupils. “Say it.”

“I want you, John.”

Rook can’t help the high-pitched whine that escapes her throat when he finally pushes inside her. He devours her frantic breaths with desperate kisses, palms the warm skin of her hip, whispers praises against her lips as she wraps her legs around his middle and presses her heels into the small of his back.

“John,” she gasps out, reaching up a hand to run through his hair. “Oh, John.”

The blood sings in her veins as he rocks his hips gently. Rook flits back and forth between the different sensations — the pleasant way her muscles stretch around the length of his cock, the warmth of his skin where they touch, the hard press of his fingers where they grip her hip. She can feel him everywhere, all at once, encompassing her like the enigma he is.

He takes her like that — slow and gentle and too much, _too much_ — until he has her writhing underneath him. His name tumbles from her lips like a broken prayer, over and over, each thrust pitching her moans just a touch higher.

“So beautiful,” he says, voice little more than a rasp as he rocks into her a little faster. She tries her best to meet each thrust with a roll of her hips. “So _mine_.”

Rook _aches_ with want. She hardly recognizes the noises she makes as her own, high-pitched whines and breathy moans mixed with airy gasps as she tries to regulate her breathing. She has never felt so overwhelmed, so white-hot, so open.

“Listen to you,” John murmurs, his breathing laboured. He leans down to suck a bruise into the side of her neck. “You make such pretty noises for me, don’t you, darling?”

“Fuck,” she hisses. A bead of sweat forms under her chin and slides down the column of her throat, and John licks it away. “Oh, god, I’m close, I’m so close.”

Slender fingers slide down the length of her body and between them to the spot where he slides in and out of her smoothly. Rook chokes out a desperate moan as John’s fingers settle on her clit.

“That’s it,” John gasps out. She can feel herself tightening around him, every part of her pulling taut as his fingers circle and circle and circle. “Come for me. Show me who you belong to.”

She _does_ , legs jerking around him as she tumbles over the edge. The pleasure feels like lightning under her skin, hot and sharp and electric, and she rakes her nails down John’s back as she rides out the waves of her orgasm.

“ _Fuck_ ,” John hisses. He comes with a low groan, burying his face into the crook of her neck as he spills inside her.

Spent, he collapses onto his forearms above her, panting. It feels like a lifetime that they lay there, exchanging heavy, humid breaths, before John finally slips out of her and rolls over onto his back. He pulls her toward him and tucks her into his side, murmuring gentle praises into her sweat-damp hair.

Rook can barely hear him over the blood roaring in her ears, but she slides a hand up and cups his cheek.

“Thank you,” John says shakily, and turns his head to kiss her palm.

* * *

There are whispers. There have always been whispers, Rook realizes, ever since the day she arrived – the only difference now is that it’s personal. Now that she’s sharing John’s bed, the rumours are getting harder and harder to ignore.

Hudson comes back from a call absolutely _seething_. Her hands shake as she recounts the story to Whitehorse and Pratt. Rook listens intently from behind her desk.

“That _fucking_ cult,” she hisses, jabbing a finger at no one in particular. “It’s getting worse. That son of a bitch, John Seed? He’s fucking _marking_ people for atonement – whatever the hell that means.”

Rook’s stomach flips unpleasantly. She remembers the things that she heard about John and Eden’s Gate that day in Whitehorse’s office. John has been her boyfriend for months now, and she trusts him – _loves_ him, even – but something has shifted. Watching Joey rant and rave about the man who wraps his arms around her at night has unsettled the tiny part of her that has always wondered: what if they’re _right_?

What if he _is_ a monster?

That tiny part of her, she realizes, is the reason she hasn’t told anyone she’s been seeing John Seed. That tiny part is the growing seed of doubt in the back of her head.

Rook doesn’t like it at all.

“What do you mean ‘marking’ them?” Pratt asks. He brings his coffee cup to his mouth and keeps his eyes on Joey.

“I mean they’re threatening people, taking their shit,” she scowls. She turns to face Whitehorse, the muscles in her jaw bunching as she grinds her teeth. “And worse. Mary May thinks people are being taken. Something’s gotta give.”

Whitehorse is quiet for a moment. Rook can almost see the gears turning in his head as he reaches up his hand and drags it down his face.

“Can she prove it?”

Hudson shifts uncomfortably. She’s still visibly angry, looks like she could punch something, but Rook knows Whitehorse has asked her something she can’t answer.

“Not exactly,” she admits. “Look, it’s just—people have been just disappearing. Sometimes they leave notes saying they’re joining Eden’s Gate, and sometimes? Nothing.”

“Hudson—”

“I know,” she says stubbornly, “I _know_ – who’s to say they didn’t go by choice? But all due respect, sir, do you really think that’s true? You both know as well as I do what they’re capable of.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Joey,” Whitehorse says. His voice is softer and quieter than Rook remembers it ever being. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Pratt, coffee abandoned, an uneasy look plastered on his face. “It only matters what we can prove.”

It’s the end of the conversation, Rook knows. There’s no arguing with him, because he’s _right_.

Joey and Pratt head back to their desks. Whitehorse lingers just a little longer, surveying the room with a pensive look on his face, before he eventually heads back to his office with tense shoulders.

The same doubtful part of her crawls out of the back of her head and wriggles into the forefront of her consciousness.

What if they’re _right_? What if he _is_ a monster?

Rook doesn’t want to do it, but she knows she has to. If she wants to settle her own racing thoughts, if she wants to crush her own doubts, she’ll have to talk to John.

Dread filters through her veins and sits heavy in her stomach.

* * *

The breeze that filters through John’s open window cools the sweat on her skin. Someone is burning something somewhere – the air smells pleasantly smoky, and as John slings an arm around her waist and tugs her flush against him, Rook can’t help but think there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

John presses his mouth to the back of her neck, his lips warm, and Rook leans back into the touch. She wants to stay like this forever. Happy. Safe. Loved.

“Can I ask you something, John?”

He nuzzles into the side of her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he answers.

“Of course you may, darling.”

There’s no easy way to have this conversation. For a moment, Rook almost wants to tell him to forget it — but she knows John, knows he’ll press until she tells him anyway. He always needs to know what’s on her mind.

“I’ve heard some things. At work,” she starts, wringing her hands together in front of her. She’s glad she’s not facing him. “About you and your brothers. The church.”

John tenses. His arms tighten around her middle almost imperceptibly, and Rook wonders anxiously if she’s struck a nerve.

“Go on.”

God, she doesn’t know where to even _start_.

“People are saying that you and your brothers are—I don’t know what this means, but they’re saying you and your brothers are ‘marking’ them. Threatening them,” Rook says, and suddenly she can’t stop the words from spilling out. “Joey was at a call in Fall’s End today. They’re saying you’re _kidnapping_ people.”

John doesn’t say anything. Rook keeps her eyes on the wall across from her, trying to steady her breathing. She thinks hard about her next words before she actually says them.

“Everybody keeps telling me you’re the bad guy, John.”

She startles when John’s arms suddenly slip from around her, and then again when he grabs her by the hip and urges her to roll over. The look on his face as she turns to face him is unreadable.

“Do you believe them?”

“I believe _you_ ,” Rook says adamantly. She places one hand against John’s chest to feel the thrum of his heart under his skin. “I trust you. I’m just trying to understand why people are saying the things they’re saying.”

John is quiet for a moment. His hand comes up to cover hers, and Rook feels herself settle just a little as he runs his thumb across her skin gently.

“Your colleagues are wrong,” he says quietly. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “They—they don’t understand us. They don’t understand Joseph’s vision.”

She has to ask. After everything Joey said that afternoon, after the way her hands had shaken as she spoke, she has to know.

“Are you taking people against their will?”

His body stiffens. For the first time since meeting him, Rook finds she is unnerved by the intensity of John’s gaze.

“People come to us of their own volition, Rook. They come to us hurt, broken, angry. This is where they find their salvation. This is where they’re saved,” John says quietly, passionately. He has always spoken animatedly about his brother and Eden’s Gate, but this feels different somehow. “Just like you saved me. Do you understand?”

She thinks she does. Rook has never been the religious sort, has never really understood believing in something that can’t be seen, but she’s never had a problem with it. A part of her imagines there must be something comforting about the thought of there being a puppet master out there pulling the strings.

John talks a lot about atonement and sin. Rook knows it has been ingrained in him since childhood, that he sees the sin in every action and is always looking for ways to expose it and absolve it. He is always searching for ways to be saved.

“Yes,” she murmurs. John relaxes, just a little, and leans forward to kiss her head. “Promise me something, John.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll be honest with me. No matter what happens,” she snakes her arms around his middle and rests her head against his chest. “Promise me you won’t ever lie to me.”

_Promise me you’re not hurting anyone. Promise me you’ll tell me if the things people say are true. Promise me you’re not the monster everyone seems to think you are_.

John is quiet for a moment, and Rook thinks he might have fallen asleep on her until he speaks. His lips move against her hair.

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was a drabble challenge prompt that got dramatically out of hand and now you just...get this. i’m sorry. 
> 
> follow me on [ tumblr](https://softseeds.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense, and maybe even request a thing!


End file.
